Loc'd Out (Partners) A Jump Street Story
by readersdigest
Summary: A fic based on the last 2 episodes of season 3- loc'd out partners, and early season 4, a bit Tom centric, but team too. What happened in between? Tom Hanson Doug Penhall Dennis Booker Harry Ioki Adam Fuller Judy Hoffs friends friendship family hurt comfort HC angst sick injured set up whump team jump street crew gangs jail prison ill help nightmares attack care tags 3.19 3.20 4.


Loc'd Out Partners

_Tag to episodes Loc'd Out at end of Season 3 of 21 Jump Street._

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**A/N**: This is a tag to the episodes Loc'd Out, which are the last two episodes of Season Three of 21 Jump Street. Those episodes are the ones where Hanson has been framed, charged, tried and (I think) convicted of killing another police officer while undercover in the commission of a burglary (therefore found guilty on the felony/murder rule, where anyone killed in the process of a felony, anyone involved is guilty of murder, intentional or not). The other cop (the dead one ) was Bud Towers, who was a dirty cop guilty of selling guns to minors. It may even end up tagging the first episode of Season Four.

I know, I'm naughty, starting another with other WIPs still here, but this would not leave me alone.

It appears I've gone rather angsty.

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**Loc'd Out (Partners)**

_A Jump Street Story._

Tom looked straight ahead as he was led out of the courtroom, unable to see the faces of the officers he thought- no, knew- had been his friend's. He couldn't bare the thought of what Doug's face would look like at the verdict.

He was numb, as they led him away, as he changed his clothes and handed over his last vestiges of his life as a police officer. He absently thinks numb is better than the despair and grief he knows will come. He doesn't think there's enough left in his heart right now for anger to be on the cards.

Later, as he slumps in the holding cell, he wonders what will happen to him. Will they out him as a former police officer? Label him as a dirty cop?

Either way, unless he's permanently in solitary confinement, he's most likely not going to survive whatever sentence they give him. Cops don't last long in prison when they don't belong to anybody.

And he doesn't belong to anybody.

He wonders what happened to IA- he'd not been interviewed by them, which was somewhat surprising, given he was still- had still been a cop. Not that it will matter soon.

The despair is coming now, over what he's lost, what he's losing, and what he will lose.

He's lost his job, and with it his friends.

He's losing his freedom, his honour and his future.

Soon enough he will lose himself, he knows.

One way or another everything comes to an end.

His whole chest aches as his heart breaks, crumbling, making him feel sick from the inside out. He can't eat what they bring him for dinner, and he'd been too late for lunch, so it's a full day now since he'd last eaten, as he hadn't had breakfast either.

Somehow, he doesn't think he'll be hungry for a while.

Someone comes to check on him after dinner and remove the tray. He doesn't see who they are because he doesn't raise his eyes from the distanced gaze they have on his hands, and beyond that, the floor. It doesn't matter anyway.

The numbness comes and goes, switching out with gut wrenching grief and despair periodically, and his eyes dull further in fatigue and heartache.

He never thought his career- his life- would end like this.

He turns to lie one the bench-bed, trying to ignore the physical aches he's had ever since he had to leap out of the window that night, and the fall he took. He's got an ache in his shoulder where he's got a cut, and he thinks maybe some glass made its way in when he rolled across the lawn. He hasn't seen a doctor or anything since all this started- being on the run doesn't exactly support that kind of action. No one asked if he was ok physically- he didn't expect them to, and he hardly thought saying anything would be a good idea. The bruises and cuts will fade and heal eventually after all, and he doesn't think anything is too damaged.

He looks, vacant and lost, at the wall opposite him, wondering. Will anyone visit him? Will they be allowed? Would they even want to? Despite the fact he knows he will yearn for friendly contact, Tom's afraid of whether they would be friendly now- even Doug, who went so far against his moral code as to lie in court in efforts to save him. He loved his best friend like family- hell, the Jump St crew were family- well, maybe not Booker. He was more like the neighbourhood kid who bullied you when no one was looking and denied it later. Or maybe the big brother or cousin who picked on you, but didn't really mean to hurt you. He didn't really like him, especially now, but he wasn't a bad cop. Just different.

And Harry- oh god, how was going to find out what happened to Harry? Last Doug said he wasn't sure if he'd wake up. It was his fault Harry was lying in a hospital, nasal cannula and IV's from his arm. If he'd gone UC earlier, stopped being stupid and just done his job quicker, maybe Harry wouldn't have been shot.

So it was his fault. When the others had to tell Harry that, Tom knew, despite his hopes, that even Harry might hate him then.

Even if he ever got out alive, he wouldn't have anything to come back to- no job, no home, no family.

He'd be as empty out there as he would be inside.

* * *

Doug didn't know what was worse right now- Harry was in hospital, fighting for his life, Tommy would soon be in jail fighting for his, and here he was, like a melon, unable to do anything but roll with the punches.

He knew who he'd like the punch. Booker- he like to punch his god damned lights out. There was no way he could work with that guy anymore- he'd betrayed them, him, Tommy, even Harry.

He wasn't sure about Hoffs- she hadn't done anything to help Tommy, but she hadn't done anything to help Booker, either, that he knew of.

The only one he could stand to look at was Fuller, and that was just barely.

He was worried, his gut permanently clenched in fear- for Tommy, and what might happen, and for Harry, and what might happen.

He;d seen the way Tommy just shut down after the verdict came from the jury, how he wouldn't lift his eyes from the floor. To an outsider, that might've looked like he was guilty and resigned to his fate, but Doug knew better. Tommy was innocent, and right now, he was alone. Doug had watched as he slowly shuffled out of the courtroom, frowning in concern at the stiffness in his movements that couldn't come from shock alone. Was he hurt? Had he even asked that? Sure he's asked if he was ok, but in the frantic times following, not much else other than the race to try to find something to help Tommy got through his mind.

Turning to Fuller with a frown furrowing his brow, Doug spoke low so no one else could hear him. "Cap'n, I think Tommy's hurt" he murmured.

Fuller turned his head to face Doug, an echoing frown on his face, "Why do you think that? How hurt?"

"I dunno, maybe when he leapt out of a window to get away from Towers shootin' at him? After that?"

Fuller frowned, wondering why no one had thought of this til now.

"I'll get in touch with processing, try to make sure he gets seen to. That's about all I can do right now" Fuller said, unhappy with the limits on helping someone he cared for. He may not know if Hanson was guilty or not himself, but it didn't stop him from worrying about him.

Doug blew out an unhappy sigh, "Yeah, ok."

* * *

Dennis Booker was a loner. He'd always been a loner, ever since he was a kid. A loner, sure, but someone who didn't just take what everyone said. Someone said they didn't like him- fine, he didn't like them either. Someone tried to do something about that dislike, he'd handle them, easy- usually with a fist to the face.

But right now, he was wishing he wasn't such a loner. Sitting next to Ioki helped him think things through- Harry was decent to him, and, as much as he didn't want to think about it, Dennis knew that even Penhall, who was way beyond not liking him at the moment, was a decent guy, and would treat him right.

Farrell. Farrell was guilty- Dennis knew it, he just wasn't sure how tot prove it, so here he was sitting next to Harry, thinking about Hanson and Farrell and Fuller and everyone.

He'd make this right.

"Farrell is guilty."

* * *

Tom knew jail would be hard. He knew what inmates did to police officers on the inside, and he knew it would only be a matter of time.

His inmate was a white guy- he wasn't sure if that was intentional, or if it was just one of the few cells not full in the state prison.

He didn't care either way.

He knew no help would come for him, not until someone jumped him or stuck a shiv in him and the guards came in.

The nightly chants of 'skin the pig' kept him awake long into the dark hours, an assurance of what would eventually happen here.

His appetite was almost non-existent, and his constant state of hyper-awareness used what energy the food he did eat gave him.

* * *

He wasn't surprised when they jumped him in the mess hall and started pounding on him- at least his inmate's reaction had given him a small heads up. He fought back because he knew it would be ten times worse if he didn't, so he fought, and fought until the guards broke them up and took them away.

He ached even worse now, but he didn't go to the infirmary, didn't even ask. Just said he was fine and stared til they left it be.

His should hurt more- it was faintly pink, but not overly so, so he wasn't sure how bad it was.

At the least the pain helped take away the fear and numbness.

For a while, anyway.

The chanting started up again.

* * *

They hadn't got him yet- it had been a while, he wasn't sure how long, he didn't want to think on it or remember, so he never asked.

But they hadn't got him yet.

* * *

Booker didn't like the look of Tom when he went to get him out of jail on the pretence of Ioki's death. He liked it even less when he saw how pale and weak he went when the word 'funeral' came out, and his initial admittance of Harry's supposed death. He couldn't wait to get out of there, and go somewhere he could tell him the truth.

The ride in the car was tense, as Dennis tried to keep his mouth shut long enough to get to Penhall's place, and tried not to see the heartbreak written on Tom's face, or the bruises peeking out of his clothing when he moved, the obvious weight lost in such a short time.

He'd make this right, no matter what.

* * *

Tom didn't know why Booker came to his cell, but his appearance finally brought a new emotion for him- anger. Punching Booker didn't help, though- he just ached more now, and when the news came in the Warden's office, it left him wishing Booker had never come. Harry- oh, Harry. Tom tried to hold back his renewed grief as he sat in the seat, shotgun to Booker as they went who knows where. Maybe Dennis was going to be nice and lend him a suit for the funeral? He didn't know where his stuff was right now- he hadn't been listening well when that was explained to him, and all he could think of now was he was out to say goodbye to a friend, only to go back to prison afterwards.

His eyes burned with the need to cry, his chest ached, and he felt a little light-headed, absently thinking maybe he should'a gone to the infirmary after all.

He blinked as they got out of the car, recognising where they were. Penhall's apartment. Doug.

He couldn't decide right away if he wanted to have to look him in the eye.

Soon enough, they were at the door, Booker trying to get Doug to let him in. Eventually, Tom stepped forward, asking to be let in, and the door soon opened.

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A/N: Read, review, return =)


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